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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982425">Where It's Always Safe and Warm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24'>freyjawriter24</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, F/F, Gardener Crowley (Good Omens), Home, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Rain, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), it's all about staying warm and dry and cosy indoors while it's raining outside</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:07:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982425</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley and Aziraphale enjoy a cosy meal with their godson, hidden safely away from the storm outside.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Fic written for <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessDianaArtemis">PrincessDianaArtemis</a> for the Ineffable Wives Exchange.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley &amp; Warlock Dowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Where It's Always Safe and Warm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessDianaArtemis/gifts">PrincessDianaArtemis</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was asked to prepare a just-in-case pinch hit for PrincessDianaArtemis, but in the end it wasn’t needed. I already had the outline, though, so I decided to write it anyway – so here’s your extra gift! I hope you enjoy it!</p>
<p>Written using the prompts ‘ineffable godparents’ and ‘South Downs cottage’.</p>
<p>The title of this fic is a lyric from 'Shelter from the Storm' by Bob Dylan. Thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisasterdi">bisasterdi</a> for pointing me towards it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The air was warm and heavy, the dry heat of the past few days building into an electric tension somewhere overhead. It was clear, to anyone who’d spent enough time in this part of the world (and paid enough attention to the weather), that a storm was coming.</p>
<p>The drive ahead wasn’t a long one, but it was still doubtful whether the outside world would still be dry by the time the old car got there. Still, that wasn’t much to be concerned about. Not in a universe where miracles existed.</p>
<p>Seatbelt on. Start the engine. Mirrors, indicate, manoeuvre. Pull out carefully, pay attention to the traffic, keep an eye on your speed and keep checking your rear-view mirror. There was an awful lot to remember, driving carefully like this, especially when you were used to rocketing down roads at illegal – if not impossible – speeds.</p>
<p>The sat nav said about half an hour. Not long at all. Maybe there would be time to get there before the heavens opened.</p>
<p>The first fat drops of rain landed on the windscreen only moments later.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The sky over the South Downs was getting worryingly overcast.</p>
<p>Well, maybe ‘worryingly’ was the wrong word, but Aziraphale <em>had</em> hoped that they might eat outside later, enjoying the last of the warm weather. Now the clouds were darkening in a way that suggested they wouldn’t be far off breaking, so a garden picnic was almost certainly off the agenda.</p>
<p>Oh, well. Eating in the warm, dry cottage and listening to the rain outside had its benefits too.</p>
<p>She wondered whether it was worth calling Crowley, whether the demon would have noticed the weather yet, but decided against it. There was no reason to disturb her.</p>
<p>Instead, she settled herself a little deeper into the armchair in the corner of the room, determined to at least finish this chapter before moving, if not the next one. There was no rush with anything anymore, after all. She was allowed some leisure time, some relaxation.</p>
<p>When it did begin to rain, the pattering of droplets against the window made for wonderful ambient reading music.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The sound of the rain on the glass was almost soothing, and so quiet at first that Crowley didn’t even notice it. She did notice, however, when it became loud enough to interrupt the tune of whatever it was she was humming to the plants.</p>
<p>“Oh,” she murmured softly, looking up.</p>
<p>Rain in a greenhouse was a strange experience – one of many Crowley hadn’t realised she was missing out on until very recently. She sat back on her heels from where she’d been crouched by a tomato plant and simply watched for a few moments, enjoying the symphony of watery percussion overhead.</p>
<p>It was odd, watching rain fall above you and yet not getting wet. And yet it was achingly familiar too. The very first rainfall, after all, had never touched Crowley. Every drop had landed on an angel’s wing instead.</p>
<p>The demon glanced over at the house, seeing if she could catch a glimpse of said angel. She wasn’t by the patio door, which was expected, but she wasn’t visible in the library window either. Which probably meant she was tucked away in the armchair in the corner, making the most of the cosy feeling of being dry and warm while the storm built outside. Crowley decided she’d bring her a hot cocoa, really complete the image of perfect comfort.</p>
<p>She glanced at her watch. Might as well make a second one too.</p>
<p>Crowley looked back down at the tomato plant and decided she was done for the day. She grabbed the basket of veg she’d already harvested, said quiet goodbyes to each of the plants, then ducked out of the door and ran back to the cottage.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Thankfully, the traffic was minimal, even with the rain. The journey was also very direct and mostly A roads, which had the double benefit of being both easier to navigate and reaching speeds that Warlock was more used to, having been driven around by Nanny Ashtoreth throughout his formative years.</p>
<p>The music in the car was also a comfort, something familiar and soothing that, to Warlock, felt as much a central part of the driving experience as putting on a seatbelt.</p>
<p><em>”When you're in need of love they give you care and attention…”</em> Freddie sang, fighting against the hammering of the rain on the windows and roof.</p>
<p><em>”Friends will be friends!”</em> Warlock sang back joyfully.</p>
<p>Not long left now, according to the map. He couldn’t wait.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Hey, angel.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looked away from the window and found her wife in the doorway, a soft smile on her face and a steaming mug in her hands.</p>
<p>Crowley brought the drink over and placed it carefully on a coaster. “Finished reading?”</p>
<p>“Mmm,” Aziraphale nodded. “Was just thinking.”</p>
<p>The demon glanced up at the window to see what her wife was looking at. Nothing but open sky was visible from this angle – just clouds and the now-driving rain. It was a beautiful viewpoint from which to see the colours the atmosphere was painted in the evenings, and on a clear day it meant a large portion of Aziraphale’s vision was her exact favourite shade of blue. For now, though, it was only grey, with water running down the windowpane.</p>
<p>“What’re you thinking about?” Crowley asked gently.</p>
<p>“Oh, nothing in particular. Just rain, the weather. I hope Warlock’s drive is going alright.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure it is,” the demon said, with an air of <em>I know it is, I made sure of it.</em></p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled, and tilted her face up to invite a kiss. “Thank you for the drink, darling.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome, angel. He should be getting here soon, by the way. Is everything ready?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I’ve changed the sheets and put out towels for him, so everything should be good. I’ve left a book or two in there that I thought he might enjoy, too.”</p>
<p>Crowley grinned, fondness softening her golden eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”</p>
<p>She bent down and gave the angel another kiss. “I’m going to start cooking. The courgettes are finally ready, so I thought maybe ratatouille?”</p>
<p>“Ooh, sounds delicious! I’ll be down in a minute.”</p>
<p>The demon nodded and sauntered to the door, only pausing for a moment to blow a kiss at her beloved. Aziraphale caught it, and blew one back. Crowley grinned delightedly, then ducked out of the room, ears burning red.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was still tipping it down when Warlock reached the little cottage, tucked away down its own little lane in the South Downs. He pulled the car onto the driveway and sat there for a moment, engine off, listening to the thunder of the rain on the roof and admiring this peaceful little oasis.</p>
<p>It wasn’t a big house, but it was larger on the inside than it looked from out here. And it was impossibly picturesque from the front – wisteria climbing elegantly over the doorway, roses arranged elegantly along the edge of the drive, the little wrought-iron gate at the side of the house that led into the spacious garden beyond.</p>
<p>It was gorgeous. And it was the closest that Warlock had ever felt to home.</p>
<p>The rain didn’t seem to be letting up. He decided to just accept the temporary dampness and make a run for it. His suitcase, carefully packed in the boot, would have to wait for later.</p>
<p>(Or perhaps it would make it inside via a generous miracle? Warlock always had to remind himself that that was an option. It was strange, this new world he lived in – <em>had been</em> living in his whole life, without realising. Amazing and brilliant and wonderful, but definitely strange.)</p>
<p>He steeled himself for the deluge of cold water, then raced out of the car and over to the front door.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The doorbell rang just as Aziraphale was laying the table. She hurried to answer it, and snapped Warlock dry the second he entered the cottage.</p>
<p>“Hi Aziraphale,” the young man said, smile bright.</p>
<p>The angel pulled him in for a hug at once. “Hello, dear. How was your drive?”</p>
<p>“Not bad. Still not completely used to it – wish I could drive by miracle like Crowley does – but I’m getting there.”</p>
<p>“Oi, I heard that!” Crowley called through from the kitchen. A moment later she was in the hallway, arms wide for a hug of her own. “I drive perfectly well, thank you. The miracles are just so the other cars don’t get in the way.”</p>
<p>Warlock laughed and hugged her tight. She smelled like earth today, he noted. It was a scent he more strongly associated with Aziraphale, from a childhood of Francis sitting amongst the roses, watching him play in the spacious grounds of the American Ambassador’s residence, but he knew Crowley was the real gardener of the pair.</p>
<p>“Need to get back to the food,” the demon said quickly as he released her. “Ratatouille, if that sounds good?” Warlock nodded.</p>
<p>She disappeared back in the direction of the kitchen, then stuck her head round the door again. “Oh, and there’s a mug of hot chocolate by your chair. Should be about the right temperature by now.”</p>
<p>Warlock couldn’t help but grin. “Thanks, Nanny,” he said softly. Crowley went red and vanished round the corner.</p>
<p>Aziraphale beamed and began to bustle Warlock into the living room. “She does love it when you call her that,” the angel murmured, low enough that Crowley couldn’t overhear. “It makes her a little emotional sometimes, but she does appreciate it.”</p>
<p>“I know.” Warlock smiled fondly as he settled himself into the armchair the celestial couple had gotten just for him, and reaching at once for the mug by his side. It was, as promised, the perfect temperature, and filled him with the warm sensation, again, of being home.</p>
<p>Aziraphale headed back over to the dining room table to finish laying out the cutlery, but reappeared shortly after to settle herself on the sofa opposite Warlock. She had her hands wrapped around a white angel-wing mug that matched Warlock’s grey one.</p>
<p>“So, how is everything?” the ethereal being-cum-bookshop owner asked. Her tone was genuinely interested, and Warlock couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity of the question. There was a certain quality to Aziraphale’s small-talk enquiries that showed that, unlike most other adults Warlock had reason to talk to, she actually cared about the answer.</p>
<p>“Not bad, thanks. Settling into the new flat okay, and the job’s going well so far. There’s a couple of cool people there, so hopefully things will go alright.”</p>
<p>“Good! It’s always a bit difficult adapting to change, but I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully, dear. And remember we’re only a quick trip or a phone call away if you need us.” Then her eyes went hard for a second, and she added, “and if anyone’s giving you any trouble, you only have to let us know.”</p>
<p>Warlock – being human and therefore not immortal, and also not having been present in the right country at the time of the most recent instance – had never seen Aziraphale wield a flaming sword. He had, however, been treated to more than one story of the angel’s stone cold badassery over the years, courtesy of one rather enamoured demon. He knew there could be real power and ruthlessness behind those eyes if the occasion demanded it.</p>
<p>So he didn’t laugh, just nodded gravely – and thanked whatever accident of fate and choice it was that meant he had these two in his life right now.</p>
<p>They chatted a little more – about what each of them were reading at the moment, about what films and TV shows Warlock had seen recently that he thought Aziraphale might want to try – and then Crowley called through that dinner was ready, and they both headed to the kitchen to bring their food through.</p>
<p>“Ooh, it smells <em>delicious</em>, darling!”</p>
<p>“Course it does! I made it,” Crowley said with half-joking pride. She pecked Aziraphale on the cheek, then turned beetroot when her wife turned and caught her by the lips for a far longer smooch.</p>
<p>Warlock hid a grin at their ridiculousness and went back to the dining room, giving them a moment together. He appreciated how in love they were, even now, after so many thousands of years. It was the kind of aspirational relationship he couldn’t help but admire; the idea that any two people could care for each other that much, to the extent that they’d be willing to defy all rules and expectations for one another, was endlessly compelling, even if the kissing was a bit much for him.</p>
<p>A minute later his two godparents appeared again and sat down with him at the little round table in the dining room.</p>
<p>“So, how’s the new job going?” Crowley asked, possibly as a distraction from her still-burning face. “And the flat? And the driving? Tell me everything!”</p>
<p>The demon’s enthusiasm was an entertaining contrast to Aziraphale’s calm interest, but the earnestness behind the questions was the same. It was nice talking to these two – Warlock felt seen, listened to, important. He felt like he <em>mattered</em> to Aziraphale and Crowley. And he always had – from right back when they were Francis and Nanny to him, to when they reconnected with him after the whole not-an-Apocalypse thing went down, he’d always felt like they actually saw him as a <em>person</em>. Which was sadly rare, as the son of a diplomat.</p>
<p>So Warlock opened his mouth and began speaking, describing to them everything interesting and dull about his new life away from London and his family. In between mouthfuls of the most delicious ratatouille he’d ever tried, they discussed friends, flatmates, and his newfound freedom, and laughed at stories and jokes the celestial beings brought up from their extensive histories of dealing with the mundanities of human life.</p>
<p>After dinner, Warlock convinced them to watch <em>Ratatouille</em>, in honour of the meal they’d shared. Crowley put some popcorn in the microwave to complement it, and Aziraphale made them all tea to settle in with. Then they piled themselves onto the sofa together, and watched in blanketed cosiness, as the rhythmic sounds of thundering rain echoed outside.</p>
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